The Professor by Sparklymeg
by ControlPossessSeduceContest
Summary: "Isabella, what I'm about to do is terribly indecent of me. Completely inappropriate." His finger dips into the crease between my cleavage and I can't contain my moan. "But I don't f***ing care anymore. I'm tired of fighting this." Contest entry for the Control. Possess. Seduce. Contest.


**Contest entry for the Control. Possess. Seduce. Contest**

 **Title:** The Professor

 **Rating:** M

 **Summary** : "Isabella, what I'm about to do is terribly indecent of me. Completely inappropriate." His finger dips into the crease between my cleavage and I can't contain my moan. "But I don't fucking care anymore. I'm tired of fighting this." Contest entry for the Control. Possess. Seduce. Contest.

 **Disclaimer** : The author does not own any publicly recognizable characters herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

 **The Professor**

 **BPOV**

The clock on the wall of the lecture hall inches closer to midday, but it drags slower than ever. Students around me fidget; doodling on notepads and flicking through phones and iPods under their desks. Restlessness is common in this workshop, lasting almost three hours. Other professors give us a ten minute break after ninety minutes or so, but Professor Cullen is a dragon. I've never even seen him crack a smile. Every lecture he stands stiff, stock still behind the lectern. He barely moves from that spot, but when he does, it's to tower over some unsuspecting student in the front row who dared to question him. Professor Cullen has a reputation around campus - his subject knowledge and intelligence matching his fiery temper. I've never been directly subjected to said temper, but to see him display it with others is fascinating.

I find everything about him fascinating.

I find it fascinating to watch him teach. His brilliance is enticing. His temper excites me.

Today, though, I'm like my classmates; restless, bored, unable to pay attention. It's almost the end of the semester and people are eager to get finished up for Christmas in just a couple of weeks.

I don't share their enthusiasm.

I'm so distracted that it takes me a few seconds to notice movement around me. Class has been dismissed, so I gather up my belongings and start to shuffle out of my row.

"Miss Swan?" Professor Cullen stands from his desk as the mass of students file out of the lecture hall. The deep timbre of his voice sends a strange sort of fizzing through my body, starting in the depths of my stomach and spreading outward, coursing through my veins and into my too-fast-beating heart. "May I see you for a few minutes?"

I swallow around the golf ball sized lump in my throat and move forward on shaky legs, down the shallow steps of the lecture theatre and towards the front of the room. His eyes remain on me as I move closer, and I have to look away. I can't stand the scrutiny. He's looking at me like I'm dirt on his shoe, the disdain apparent in the way his lips curl into a sneer.

He's never looked at me like this. He's always been pleasant and polite with me. As his T.A. for a few of his undergrad classes, we meet once a week to discuss the week ahead, and we've never had any issues. He keeps things professional, but he's always doing chivalrous things like standing when I enter his office for a meeting and opening the door for me at the end.

As I approach, he turns and sits in his chair again, gesturing with one hand to the chair on the other side of the desk. I sit down directly opposite him, my eyes falling to the thick stack of papers on his desk. I recognize my own hand writing on the top paper.

I also see his red pen all over it

 _Fuck._

Professor Cullen flips said red pen back and forth between his long fingers as he waits for the last few students to leave the room, his forearms leaning on the table. I can't take my eyes off the long lean lines, the way the muscles of his forearm ripple and flex with the motion of his fingers.

When the door slams, I'm so on edge that I flinch in the chair. I inhale deeply and hold it for a second, willing my galloping heart to slow down. I let out the breath slowly and open my eyes, feeling calmer. A rare confidence comes over me and I meet his eyes, willing myself to hold his stare.

Professor Cullen drops the pen on top of the stack of papers and leans back in his chair, legs spread wide, hands resting on his long thighs. The way his black pants cling to the hard muscle is sinful, and I avert my eyes before they can travel higher. The silence stretches out between us as he tilts his head at me, studying me, considering his words.

"Miss Swan, I'm sure you know why I asked you to stay behind today."

"I..." I'm so nervous my throat is dry, and it comes out a whisper. I clear my throat before speaking up. "I think so, Professor."

He narrows his eyes at me and I try not to blanch under his stare. The intense green of his eyes is disarming; he has no idea of the effect he has on people.

"I'd like you to tell me," he says, rising from the chair and walking slowly to the side of the table. His proximity is making me more nervous by the second. I can smell his cologne, a spicy, woodsy scent that intoxicates me.

"I think... my paper..."

"This paper?" He asks, the red pen clattering to the floor as he lifts my paper from the top. I nod, and he takes a step closer. "What about this paper?"

"It's not my best work, Professor. I've been having a difficult time lately, Sir."

 _I will not cry. I will not cry in front of Professor Edward Cullen._

He takes one more step and I sit up straighter in my chair, trying to create some distance between us. He's too close now. There are mere inches between us; with me sitting and him standing, my face is level with his crotch and suddenly I'm imagining the most inappropriate things.

I drop my eyes, fidgeting with the hair tie that's wrapped around my wrist. There's a tangible tension in the room and the strange, heady mix of lust and fear that I feel is making an absolute mess of my insides.

I hear the ripping of paper and I look up, gasping when I see him tearing my paper in half and then half again, and then again. He drops it back on the desk. His face reveals nothing. He could be seconds away from exploding and I have nowhere to take cover.

"This is bullshit, Isabella," he says, his voice a low rumble. He never addresses students by their first name. Though he has a good pokerface, something softens in his eyes as he watches me.

"What happened?" He looks tired now, and sighs before taking a step back and sitting down in his chair again. My galloping heart slows to a mere canter as I realize that maybe he's not going to explode after all.

"Sir, I've been having some personal problems lately. It's been a lot to deal with. As you know, this is not the norm for me."

It's true. He knows this. I've been able to juggle the extra pressure for the last few months, but the cracks are starting to show. Professor Cullen is a rare breed, and he rarely dishes out praise to any of his students. Still, with every paper I've submitted, it's always been returned with a positive note at the top of the page along with my grade. This small form of acknowledgement gives me some indication that he knows how hard I work for this class.

Knowing this doesn't put my mind at ease. I knew when I handed it in that it wasn't my best work.

Despite my fear, his face changes before my eyes. It goes from curious, to skeptical, to sympathetic in the space of about five seconds. His lips purse and he runs his fingers through his hair, blowing out a breath.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Isabella, but you're a Masters student. You need to set personal things aside when you step into this room," he says, rising from his chair again and pacing between his desk and the lectern.

"This is a poor excuse for a thesis intro, Isabella. Have you thought anymore about a PhD? Because you need to work a lot harder than this," he says, his voice rising with each syllable. He's getting agitated again, tugging at his unruly bronze hair.

"What the hell happened, Isabella?" He barks when I don't respond. His fury is barely contained.

"I... I can't... I'm sorry," The last two words come out a whisper, my voice breaking as a flood of emotion washes over me again. I bite my lip to try to stop the tears welling up.

My quiet sobs and his heavy breathing are the only sounds in the room for one long, awkward moment, before he's crouching down on his knees beside me. He reaches up and touches my shoulder, squeezing quickly before pulling away and standing, fists balled at his sides.

"I apologize, Isabella. That was inappropriate."

He watches me carefully, his gaze darting between my eyes and the tears running down my face. I have no idea how to respond to his words, so I say nothing.

"Please don't cry." He looks uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, Sir," I say, still wondering what the hell is going on.

"Don't. I should apologize. I didn't mean to make you cry. Obviously, your personal problems are none of my business."

He clears his throat, meets my eyes again. "I want to give you the chance to resubmit the paper."

"Why?"

"You'll have one week. I'll expect a completely different paper this time. Email me if there's anything you need," he says as he moves back towards his chair, lifting his jacket that hangs on the back. He pulls it on, fidgets with his collar; he seems flustered. He picks up his messenger bag, walking toward the door as if I'm not there. He opens the door and clears his throat. The conversation is over.

He doesn't look at me as I walk toward the door. I've been dismissed, like nothing happened. As I pass him, his hand on my forearm stops me. My arm burns with his tight grip, my heart stuttering with the effect of his touch.

"Do not tell anyone about this, Miss Swan. No one else gets the second chance you're getting," he whispers. It feels like a threat.

"Why? Why are you giving me a second chance?"

"Because I can."

 _ **~The Professor~**_

I race across campus, running late because Cullen kept me back, when I hear the last voice I want to hear. "Bella! Wait up!"

"Angela, hey."

"Didn't you hear me calling you?" She's panting, trying to catch her breath.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you. I'm in a rush, I'm late for study group." I was hoping my sister wouldn't be so persistent. I should know better.

My excuses seem to fly over her head, because she doesn't bat an eyelid.

"So, are you coming home this weekend? I want to see Dad."

"I can't, Ange. I have a ton of deadlines for next week."

I stop when we reach the library - I'll never get any work done if she follows me in.

I feel guilty for the the way her eyes fall, so I pull her into a hug.

"I'm sorry, Ange. You know I would if I could. I'm under a lot of pressure right now," I say, feeling the panic rise in my chest again when I think about it all. Coupled with the crushing guilt I feel for not going home with her this weekend, it's all starting to become too much.

Angela is still for a second, before huffing out a breath and wrapping her arms around me.

Her voice is thick, like she's holding back tears.

"I understand," she whispers. "I don't like it, but I understand."

"I'm sorry," I say again. "Call me when you get there? Let me know you've arrived safely."

"I will." She turns and walks away, and then it's just me and my pity party.

My heart feels heavy as I trudge up the stairs to the lit section. Melancholy fills me when I think about the reason Angela is going home, and then I feel worse for not being able to go. It may seem cold of me, but I push the feelings away when I find my group of classmates gathered at our usual table. We exchange quick greetings as I pull out my books and laptop. I boot up the computer and load up my saved copy of the paper Cullen tore to shreds in front of me. I still just can't even get my head around what just happened.

As an undergraduate freshman, I saw Professor Cullen as the hot-but-brooding, bad tempered, intimidating but brilliant teacher that he is. All the girls thought he was hot; all the guys were scared of him. I was still dating my high school boyfriend back then, but I could appreciate that Professor Cullen was easy on the eye.

When Mike and I split up amicably in junior year of college, I threw myself into my studies. I've been single since, which suited me fine after being in a relationship with the same guy since junior year of high school. Perhaps I needed a distraction, but spending time with my hot Professor during TA meetings and staring at him in class has only served to develop those fleeting thoughts about how hot he is, into a full blown crush with R rated fantasies. Although we spend lots of time together, he always keeps clear student to teacher boundaries, and has never given any indication that my crush is reciprocated.

I'm so going to hell.

Crush aside, I desperately want to do well; to impress him. I'm competitive by nature, and. I was top of my graduating class for my Bachelors degree. As my thesis advisor for my MFA in Creative Writing with Education, Professor Cullen has been pushing me toward a PhD, although I'm still undecided about that. I'm definitely leaning toward teaching.

He can be ruthless and scary, but I think he just does it to get the best out of people. Sometimes, I don't know if my best is good enough.

I knew this paper wasn't my best work, yet I handed it in anyway, knowing there was a possibility I'd encounter his wrath. Whether he knew about my personal life or not, he doesn't seem the type to give anyone special treatment — which I didn't want. I needed peace of mind that I could take full credit for my grades, special circumstances or not. And in the end, graduating top of my class was the ultimate reward.

Although I should be grateful for the opportunity, I'm annoyed. At myself for breaking down in front of him, for telling him how much I'm struggling, and for him having to give me a second chance. I just don't understand why he did that.

The way he looked at me today; I never want to see that disappointment on his face again. I've seen it many times, directed at other students, but never at me. But there was something else there, too. Curiosity or wonder. Something maybe even a little darker. Something that made me burn inside.

 _ **~The Professor~**_

"So, how's he doing?"

"He's okay. He's taking a nap right now. He misses you." Angela whispers - I guess she's keeping her voice down so that she doesn't disturb him,

"I know, Ange. I'm sorry. Two more weeks and then it'll be Christmas break anyway."

"I know, and he knows that, too. Don't feel bad. He understands how hard you're working."

"I do feel bad, though. It's so hard to juggle all of this right now." My voice cracks.

"You can do it, Bella. I have faith in you."

We make small talk for a few more minutes, Angela telling me about the weather in Forks (rain as usual) and bumping into a friend from high school at the grocery store, before I hang up with a promise to call again tomorrow. I flop back on my pillow, taking just a few minutes to re-centre myself. My bed is littered with books and papers, and I have a collection of empty coffee cups on my nightstand. I'm about halfway through the re-write of my paper, after staying late at the library yesterday and then working most of today on it since I have no classes on a Friday. I'm trying to get as much done as possible, but I'm stuck, and calling home was just another form of procrastinating.

My eyes get heavy and I feel myself dozing off, when my phone vibrates in my hand. I unlock my phone to an email alert, and I bolt upright on the bed when I see who it's from.

 _ **From: Professor E.A. Cullen  
To: Isabella Swan **_

_**Subject: Paper**_

 _ **Ms. Swan,**_

 _ **How is the re-write going?**_

 _ **I have some free time this afternoon after 3pm if you need help. There are also some things we need to discuss in regards to your credits for your T.A. work this semester.**_

 _ **Stop by my office after 3pm if it's convenient for you. If not, I will see you Monday at our usual time.**_

 _ **Regards,**_

 _ **Professor Cullen.**_

Well, shit. I really can't pass up an opportunity like this. I quickly tap out a reply.

 _ **From: Isabella Swan**_

 _ **To: Professor E.A. Cullen**_

 _ **Sir,**_

 _ **It's going okay, but I'm stuck and could use your insight.**_

 _ **See you at 3pm.**_

 _ **Bella.**_

 _ **~The Professor~**_

I make it across campus just on time, and arrive at Professor Cullen's office at exactly 2.59pm. As I lift my hand to knock, the door swings open and he's there in front of me. I stand there, fist hanging in mid air, gaping at him.

"I know I can be an asshole sometimes, Ms. Swan, but there's really no need for fisticuffs." I drop my hand as his straight face transforms to a full on grin. I bite my lip to suppress my own smile. He's pulling a scarf around his neck from a coat stand by his office door, his keys jingling in his hand.

"Are you going out?" I ask, confused.

"Come on, I haven't eaten yet. We can have this meeting over a late lunch." He steps around me and pulls the door closed behind him. He locks the door and puts his keys into this pocket, then turns towards me and holds out a hand.

I frown.

"Your bag, Isabella?"

"I... what?" I swear I have a degree in English. Apparently, I can't form coherent sentences around hot professors.

"I asked you to come all the way over here and now I'm dragging you away again," he says in a mildly exasperated tone. "That bag looks heavy, the least I can do is carry it for you?"

I nod dumbly and let my backpack slide off my shoulder. It _is_ really heavy. He catches it and hikes it up on his shoulder with minimal effort and then puts his messenger bag over his other shoulder.

"Let's go," he says, in that no-nonsense tone that sends a swarm of butterflies dancing around my stomach. I watch him walk away, still baffled. His full on grin when he opened the door, his attempt at humor with the fisticuffs comment, his chivalry in offering to carry my bag - who is this and what has he done with Professor Cullen?

He's a few feet ahead of me and I'm mesmerized by his long legs and the way his ass fills his black dress pants, when he whirls around and lets out a quiet sigh.

"Are you coming?" He looks mildly pissed off now so I snap out of it and catch up with him, aware of his eyes on me as I walk towards him.

"I'm coming," I say, noticing the way his eyes darken at my words. I can't help but wondering if he's thinking the same thing I am.

That I'd like him to _make_ me come.

 _ **~The Professor~**_

We go to a diner off campus. Professor Cullen ordered the biggest burger and fries on the menu, while I ordered a club sandwich. I was secretly relieved that he had suggested a late lunch when I realized I'd got through the last twenty four hours on coffee alone.

It feels strange, being out of our usual environment of his office. His tie is loosened, his posture relaxed, and he seems less like the uptight, strict professor that he usually is and more like a friend. This feels light; almost fun. Like study group at the library with my classmates.

The table is strewn with books and notes, our plates pushed to one side as we go through my thesis. I'm sitting across from him, and my laptop is out, turned sideways so we can both see the screen. He's furiously underlining key pieces of text in one of my books and making notes in the margin, glancing up at the screen every so often and reading another paragraph. I wish I could read his mind. Finally, he lets out a sigh and sits back in the booth.

"Okay, this is good. This is ten times better than that piece of crap you handed in last week," he says, taking a sip of his Coke. I wince at his words, but I know it's the truth.

"Isabella, I'm only on your case so much about this because I know you can do better," he says with a sigh. He leans forward and rests his forearms on the table. "You're one of my best students. You have so much potential. I just want the best out of you."

"I know," I say, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. "I really appreciate the opportunity to do this again, Sir."

He stares at me for a beat, his lips pursed, as if considering something. The back of my hand warms when he places the palm of his hand over it.

"Tell me," he whispers. His eyes burn into me. He squeezes my hand and I can't breathe for just a second. His thumb rubs circles across the space between my thumb and finger, and I can't think straight when he touches me like fact that he's even touching me at all sends my pulse hammering through my veins.

"Tell me what's going on with you, Isabella. You've been someone else entirely the last few months. You don't have the same passion for writing you used to have. I see you in class sometimes, zoning out. It's like, the lights are on but no one's home."

He takes a deep breath and pulls his hand away from mine, running it through his hair.

"Look, I'm sorry I lost my temper with you yesterday, but that's just me sometimes," he says, and I snort. He raises an eyebrow at me.

"I've seen it enough times to know. I just never thought I'd be on the receiving end," I say.

"Like I said. I'm sorry you were on the receiving end of it. But I'm genuinely worried about you. If there's something that I can help with, let me."

I hesitate. Silences stretches between us as he waits, holding eye contact with me while I mull it over in my head. I'm torn. I work hard, and I feel strongly about being able to stand on my own two feet, but seeing this new side of Professor Cullen is making me rethink things. Maybe he's not the dragon he makes himself out to be. Maybe it would help to talk about things with someone. Maybe he can help me channel these emotions into my writing.

Resolved, I take a deep breath.

"My parents separated, about a year ago. My mother left my father for a younger man."

"Shit. I'm so sorry. That must have been really hard on your family," he says. He squeezes my hand across the table once again.

"It was, but we got through it. It's just the three of us; me, Dad and my sister Angela. My mother lives in Florida now." Bitterness laces my words, and I swallow that shit with a large gulp of my Fanta. "My dad's strong. Chief of Police in Forks, where I'm from. He's been a workaholic for years and I think my mother resented that. I never did, nor did Angela. We never felt like we missed out, you know? I mean, he was always there for the important things.

"Anyway, my Dad's pretty resilient, and things seemed to get back to some sort of normal after a while. Until three months ago. My dad went for a routine check up and there were some questionable blood test results. His doctor sent him for further tests and he was diagnosed with colon cancer."

I pat at the tears on my face with a napkin and blow my nose. I'm trying to pull myself together when I notice him get up from his seat and cross to my side of the booth. He folds himself into the bench beside me and pulls me toward him. My face pressed to his chest, his strong arms around my shoulders, holding me close to him. I'm disoriented, wondering how I got here. I can feel his breath washing over me, an exquisite mix of cinnamon and cigarette smoke.

It's like a dream. Or an alternate universe. On what planet does the infamous, hardass, no bullshit Professor Cullen comfort his students, and in such a physical way?

I can hear his heartbeat where my face rests against his chest. It's racing.

As confusing as this is, I bask in it; being held so tight by such strong arms. It's been such a long time since I've felt comfort like this. He's so solid.

I just melt into him.

Too soon, he pulls back, resting a hand on my shoulder. His other hand comes up to my face and he slowly wipes away the tears on my cheek, before pushing my hair back behind my ear.

"Isabella," he whispers. His face is so close to me and for a second, I think he might kiss me. As I lick my lips, he pulls his hands away and balls them into fists on the table top. He angles his body slightly away from mine and the change in the atmosphere is stifling. There's a palpable tension rolling off him, his eyebrows knitting together in a frown. He clears his throat.

"What's the prognosis?"

"They caught it early - stage two. He's had surgery to remove the tumor, so he's been recovering from that. But, he's also been having chemo because there was a chance it may have spread to the lymph nodes. We'll know for sure in a couple of months," I say, feeling numb inside. Talking to someone makes it all the more real.

'Why didn't you come to me sooner? You could take a semester out. Classes will always be here," he says, turning to face me again, his eyes searching mine.

"No, I don't want that, and my father wouldn't want it either. I get home most weekends to see him, but things have been a little crazy lately trying to juggle it all, which was why I struggled with this paper."

"Isabella-"

"No, Professor, I can do this. I swear I can." I'm getting frustrated now, because this is what I was afraid of. The last thing I want is pity or special treatment.

Professor Cullen sighs, turns away from me again and signals to the waitress for the check. It's like a switch has been flipped, and this frustrates me even more. He's pulling his coat and scarf on and gathering up his planner and notebook into his messenger bag. Despondent, I start to pack away my own notes and books, as well as my laptop. I pull some bills from my wallet for the check, setting them on top of the table. He sets his hand on top of mine and slides the bills back towards me.

"Put your money away, Isabella."

"But-"

"I insist," he says and the look on his face shuts me right up. I shrink back at his commanding tone, and continue packing up my stuff. I slide out of the booth and he takes my bag from me like he did earlier outside his office.

"Thank you, Sir. For lunch, and well, everything."

His face softens. "You're welcome. Now let's get back. You have a lot of work to do."

 _ **~The Professor~**_

Time passes quickly. I spend the rest of the weekend in the library re-writing my paper. I talk to my Dad on Saturday afternoon. He sounds tired, but he's happy to hear from me and talks about how proud he is of me for all my hard work. I hang up with promises to see him soon and tears in my eyes.

I get my paper finished two days before Professor Cullen asked for it. I hand it to him after class on Wednesday and don't miss the way his fingers linger on mine when he takes the paper from me.

I get it back two days later with a star drawn at the top in red Sharpie, with a note saying, "Nailed it!"

My smile stays on the rest of that weekend.

As the final week of the semester approaches, campus is buzzing with excitement. The twinkle of fairy lights and the almost cloying scent of pine needles and cinnamon make me sentimental and a little giddy on the inside. I'm excited for the break, for the opportunity to spend time with my father and friends back home.

My classes finished on Tuesday, but Angela has one more class on Thursday, so we're leaving Thursday afternoon straight after her class. It's a four hour drive from Seattle to Forks, so we want to get in before it's too late at night. We spend Wednesday packing up the essentials that we'll need for Christmas break from the small apartment that we rent off campus, and then go into town to finish the last of our Christmas shopping.

Wednesday night finds me twiddling my thumbs while Angela is at her boyfriend's place. Most of my classmates have already left for the holidays, so I decided to take a walk to the library to return some books and check out some new ones. Although I'll enjoy the break, I do need to get some work done over the holidays.

I'm leaving the library, rushing across the quad, cursing myself for coming out so late when the weather is so bad, when I hear his voice.

"Isabella!"

I freeze and turn slowly. "Professor." My teeth chatter as a particularly icy blast of wind rushes all around me.

"You need a ride home?"

He's devastatingly handsome in his double breasted grey pea coat and red scarf. His hair and his beard have got longer over the last few weeks, almost like he's using it as winter insulation. I swallow my shock with a small smile.

"Oh no, I'm fine. It's only like a fifteen minute walk anyway," I say.

He sighs, weary. He has that look. That no-nonsense-don't-argue-with-me look. I've spent enough time with him now to know what that look means.

"Isabella," he says, firmer this time. "You need a ride home." The inflection is gone from his tone this time. It's not a question. Despite the cold, I feel my cheeks heat under his piercing gaze. He's such a picture in contrasts. Sometimes, in class when he looks at me, he's like a missile about to detonate. I'll be laughing at something one of the other students have said and his face is barely hiding his fury. Other times when we have our one-on-one meetings, I'll be reading something to him from my thesis and I'll look up to catch him just staring at my face, studying me intently like he's trying to figure out quantum gravity.

He's looking at me now like I've been an insolent teenager and he wants to drag me to his car and strap me in.

It truly makes me wonder what a man like him would be like in bed.

"Let's go," he says, pulling my bag from my shoulder as he walks past me. I follow, of course, because his voice does things to my insides that make me lose all coherent thought, and obviously, because it's freezing and my many layers of clothing are not doing anything to alleviate that.

I find myself jogging to keep up with his long strides. When we reach a shiny silver Volvo parked across the street, he holds open the passenger door for me and I slide in and belt up, immediately overwhelmed by his scent saturating the whole car.

He drops our bags into the back seat and gets into the driver side, immediately starting up the car. He pulls on his seatbelt and sets his cellphone in it's holder in the center console. All of his movements are controlled, precise.

"So, where to?"

I give him directions and what would be a 15 minute walk for me, takes less than five minutes in his car. He doesn't speak, just stares straight ahead at the road, his grip on steering wheel so tight that his knuckles are white.

When he pulls up at my apartment, I feel forlorn. I don't want to get out of the car. Despite his brooding silence, being in his presence makes me feel alive in ways I haven't felt in a long time.

He turns off the engine and takes off his seatbelt, still staring straight ahead.

"Well, thanks for the ride." My voice is small; I feel the need to whisper after such a long silence.

"Isabella, you shouldn't be walking home alone at this time."

"I do it all the time," I reply. "Well, that's a lie. Not all the time. My sister Angela and I share a car. She's out tonight seeing her boyfriend before the holidays. I didn't even plan to come out but there was a couple more books I wanted from the library."

He seems placated by my answer. He nods and purses his lips, still staring straight ahead.

"Well, thanks again, Professor. Merry Christmas." I unbuckle my seatbelt and open the car door. He gets out too, grabbing my bag from the backseat. It's my turn to quirk an eyebrow at him when he starts to follow me up the steps to the door of the brownstone building.

"I'm seeing you safely to the door, Isabella," he says by way of explanation. The wind is stronger now, whipping through my hair and blinding me. I stumble up the last step, bracing myself for a fall when I feel his arms wrap around my waist and pull me flush against him, preventing my fall.

Time freezes. The wind whips my hair around both our faces now. His breath fans over my face as we stand there staring at each other in the bitter cold. I feel the warmth of it right down to the tips of my toes.

I right myself, standing up straight. He pulls his arms away, leans back against the door and lets out a humorless chuckle.

"I feel... very protective of you," he says.

I'm not sure how to respond to that. He simply shakes his head and looks at the ground. I want him to elaborate, but I can see him shutting down before my eyes.

"I have to go. I shouldn't be here." He tugs at his hair in exasperation, starts walking back down the steps. My heart sinks, and I pull my keys from my pocket. Before I turn away, he stops, turns and comes back up the steps. He brushes my windswept hair away from my face and cradles my jaw in his hand. His eyes dart between mine, as if trying to gauge my reaction. He leans in and presses his lips to my cheek. It's brief, and it's chaste, but it fills my innermost parts with heat and desire, leaving me breathless. He pulls back, his eyebrows knitting together in a frown.

"Merry Christmas, Isabella."

 _ **~The Professor~**_

Charlie has gained a little weight since the last time I was home at Thanksgiving. His once sallow complexion has warmed slightly and the dark circles under his eyes appear less extreme.

Throughout everything in the past year, his eyes never lost their sparkle. He's still tired a lot of the time, but he hides it well. He watches from the couch with a huge grin on his face while Angela and I decorate the tree, throwing popcorn at each other and giggling when we get the lights tangled up. We watch _It's a Wonderful Life_ and drink mulled cider. I cook my crock pot Ham-in-Coke early on Christmas Eve so that it's ready for the oven on Christmas morning, and as per Swan family tradition, we head out to church for Christmas Eve carols.

My heart is full and I'm buzzing with that warm, content feeling that only being around loved ones at Christmas can bring. We're making our way out of the church when my Dad stops at the end of the aisle.

"Doctor Cullen," he exclaims, clapping a handsome blonde man on the shoulder in greeting. My eyes are drawn to the copper haired man to his right.

"Professor Cullen?" I say dumbly, my eyes darting between the two. The older, blonde man is a carbon copy of my hot professor, except, of course for the hair, and the fact that he has at least twenty years on him.

 _Edward_ Cullen nods at me. "Isabella," he says, with a smile. "Meet my father, Dr Carlisle Cullen."

The older Doctor Cullen holds his hand out to me with a huge smile. "You must be Bella, Charlie's eldest?" I shake his hand, nodding, still lost for words. What the hell is my professor doing in Forks?

"Of course, I've already met Angela, but I hear you're a busy little bee on campus these days. Edward's been telling me all about your work," says Doctor Cullen, and if I'm not mistaken, Edward's cheeks turn a little pink.

"What a small world, Bella," says my Dad. "Doctor Cullen's son is your Professor?"

It takes me a second or two to find my voice. Sweet Lord, what is it about this man that renders me speechless everytime?

"So it seems. Dad, this is Professor Cullen. Professor, this is my father, Charlie Swan." They shake hands and exchange pleasantries. "I never knew you were from around here, Professor," I say. He opens his mouth to speak when Doctor Cullen chimes in.

"Oh, we're from the city originally, Seattle born and bred. I transferred to Clallam County Hospital District two months ago. My wife wanted to settle in a small town and she fell in love with Forks." He chuckles, nudging Edward with his elbow. "This is the first time we've been able to get Edward down to visit us. He's so busy."

"Must be a common theme with these academic types," say Charlie, putting his arm around my shoulder. "I couldn't be prouder, though."

"So you should be, Mr Swan. She's one of my best students," says Edward. Charlie's face is beaming with pride; I feel my cheeks heat under the scrutiny. Thankfully, Doctor Cullen engages Charlie in conversation about holiday plans as we make our way out into the foyer. Angela is out front catching up with friends from high school, leaving the professor and I hanging back from the rest of the group. I think of the last time I saw him, how he hardly spoke and then left me with that simple, yet sweet kiss on the cheek. How I thought about him the rest of the evening. How it burned me inside, leaving me frustrated and unable to sleep until I relieved myself of the tension. I try to clear my head of my less than chaste thoughts, given that we are outside a church.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask him, still shocked to see him here.

"Honestly? I didn't know," he says with a shrug. "I mean, obviously I knew my Dad had accepted a new position and that they had moved, but I don't pay a lot of attention to the small details. He gave me the address for my GPS, but I didn't even realize until I drove into town last night."

I nod.

"Your father looks well. Is he well?"

"He looks much better than the last time I saw him," I say.

We're at the bottom of the church steps now, and he pauses. People move around us but we're in a bubble; suspended in time, his eyes fixed intently on my face as he takes a step closer. A light snow begins to fall, the promise of a white Christmas. I want to bottle this moment and keep it forever.

"And you? Are you okay?" he murmurs, his voice low. Intimate. The way he's looking at me, and this tone he's using has my head spinning and my heart stuttering. A snowflake lands on his bottom lip. I can barely contain the urge to lick it away.

"I'm good," I whisper. We stare at each other. I'm mesmerized by his smile. It's dazzling. This new, softer side of a man I always perceived to be a bit ornery, is making me crush even harder. His good looks are merely a pretty package. I want to know the man inside - he's a mystery that I could spend forever trying to solve.

"That's good," he says, his eyes dropping to mouth. God, I want him to kiss me. Even if he did return my feelings, there's no way he'd do it here in front of our families.

"Well, you should enjoy your break over the holidays," he says. "But, I'll be here through New Years if you're doing any work and need my help. Merry Christmas, again." He squeezes my hand, and then bounds across the car park and into the passenger side of a sleek black Mercedes. Angela beeps the horn and I dart into the car quickly, our bubble burst as fast as the rapidly falling snow.

 _ **~The Professor~**_

Christmas passes in a chaotic blur of presents, a ridiculous amount of food, and copious amounts of mulled cider. My father's friend Billy and his son Jacob join us for Christmas dinner. Jacob is the same age as Angela and gay as the day is long. After dinner, we clear up the kitchen while Jacob regales us with tales of gay clubs and bar hopping in NYC, where he studies dance at Juilliard.

It's with a full tummy, a happy heart and cider fueled buzz that I collapse into bed close to midnight, content, but exhausted. I reach to turn the lamp off when I my phone buzzes on my nightstand. I have a text from Professor Cullen.

 _ **How's my favorite student? - E.C.**_

With nothing to hide from, I let out everything I've been suppressing for weeks now and release a high pitched, girlie squeal. I throw myself back on my pillow and kick my feet against the bed. My excitement is ridiculous. He never texts me about anything other than my T.A. schedule, and now he's texting me on Christmas, and apparently I'm his favorite student? It makes me wonder if he has also participated in a little holiday beverage or two. Something has shifted between us. Maybe it's because it's Christmas, or maybe it's because I'm a little drunk, but I decide to push the boundaries a little.

 _ **Tipsy and happy and buzzed from Christmas. Even better since hearing from you.**_

There's no reply for a few minutes. I worry my lip between my teeth, thinking I've pushed it too far, when my phone vibrates again.

 _ **Is that so? Why is that? - E.C.**_

 _ **I think you know why, Sir. - Bella.**_

 _ **I love it when you call me that. I think I have an idea. But I think you should tell me. - E.C.**_

Fuck, even his text messages make me clench my thighs together with want. We're approaching dangerous territory here. He's my professor; this is completely inappropriate, not to mention totally unethical. If we got involved, and someone found out, he could lose his job. I could get kicked out of school and both our reputations would be ruined. It's a huge risk to take and a huge price to pay, but my heart is overruling my head right now. My desire for him runs deep.

 _ **Because I want you.- Bella.**_

It takes almost five minutes for his reply to come through. When it does my heart almost stops.

 _ **You can have me, Isabella. Very very soon. - E.C.**_

I don't reply, because I have no idea how to respond. But it's with his face in my head, that I slip my hands into my underwear, and a while later that I eventually fall asleep, basking in the glow of my orgasm.

 _ **~The Professor~**_

The rest of Christmas break goes by fast. I spend quality time with Charlie and manage to fit in some studying. Professor Cullen texts me at least once a day. Sometimes he sends quotes by Blake or Wordsworth; making my heart race and leaving me wondering if the words are meant for me. Other times it's a book title and author, along with a shelf reference for the college library - making me realize that perhaps he's just being a helpful professor.

Classes don't start back until the end of January, but Angela has exams to study for and I have a lot of work to do, so the day after New Years, Angela and I say an emotional goodbye to Charlie with promises to be back soon. He gets his next test results on March 1st. It's a big deal - confirmation that they got all the cancer, or the crushing news that it's spread.

I have to put that aside for now, and focus on my thesis.

Because there are no classes, I don't see Professor Cullen at all the first week. He texts me a few times, but there is no allusion to the flirty messages he sent me on Christmas night, merely references to help with my thesis and confirming my availability for T.A. work next semester. It makes me wonder if he was drunk that night.

The following weekend, because I have no social life and a mountain of reading to get through, I find myself at the library on a Friday night. Angela is spending the weekend with her boyfriend.

I've made a lot of progress, but my eyes are drooping and my back is getting tender from sitting against the stack. I check my watch: 1:24am. I need sleep. This is ridiculous. I've worked hard enough today and the thought of a long rest makes me smile.

I stand slowly, stretching, rolling my neck from side. I lift the small pile of books from the floor and haul them up to the shelf, where they land with a dull thud. I close my eyes for just a second, basking in the silence, nothing but the quiet hum of the overhead florescent lights. Although the library is open twenty-four hours a day, the last few stragglers cleared out just after 11pm. The night clerk is at the front desk but apart from that I'm alone up here.

Silence is bliss.

A shiver races through me and I pull my button up sweater tighter around my body. The heating in this old building can be temperamental at the best of times; I'm going to have to layer up as the colder weather sets in.

I feel it before I hear it. The air around me changes, and goosebumps not caused by the heat, start to spring up across my bare neck. Someone is close by. It's like an electric current fizzes through the air; anticipation and wonder and a little bit of fear all unfurl from a little ball deep in my stomach. And then: the soft fall of footsteps across the graying, faded carpet; the clearing of a throat.

My spine straightens and I turn, expecting the library clerk checking up on me. I barely stifle a gasp when I see who is standing less than two feet away from me.

"Isabella."

"Professor Cullen," I whisper, taking a deep breath through my nose, clasping my hands together to keep them from shaking. He's dressed in casual clothes, not his usual black slacks and black shirts that he wears for teaching. He's in dark jeans and a black v-neck t-shirt that hugs his broad, masculine shoulders. In the dip of the neck of his shirt I can see a peek of the ink that has teased me for weeks since that day in his office before Christmas break when he'd pushed his chair back from the desk, leaned back, and opened the top three buttons of his shirt. I watched from across the desk while he tilted his head up to the ceiling and closed his eyes, rubbing on a spot on his collarbone, biting his lip, wincing like he was in pain. It was strange, yet so erotic, to watch his face contort like that, his head thrown back.

Rather like I imagine it might in the throes of passion.

I'd cleared my throat and his head had snapped up, his clear green eyes focusing on me. His hand had slowly moved from his collarbone, down the middle of his shirt and gradually came to rest on his thigh, high up, close to his crotch, keeping his eyes on me the whole time. I couldn't take my eyes off his hand; his long fingers, slightly curled as if he were gripping hard.

Professor Cullen takes a step closer, which startles me out of my lewd thoughts. He tilts his head, studying me in that way that continues to unnerve me, maybe because I haven't seen him in a few weeks. I feel every tiny hair on the back of my neck stand on end as his eyes rove up and down my body. It feels like every charged, heavy moment we've shared in the last year have lead up to this.

"What are you doing here so late? This is becoming a habit." He cocks that eyebrow, and damn, does he realize how sexy that is? And how does he know what habits I've been keeping?

I bite the inside of my cheek, taking another deep breath before I answer him. The spark flying between is enough to blow out the entire campus power grid.

"Reading. Catching up on work. One of my professors is a real slave driver," I say, my voice light and teasing, trying to break some of this tension.

He takes another step closer, I step back. My back is right against the shelf and my hands automatically drop to my sides, gripping the edge of the bookshelf to steady myself. His face is inches from mine and his hot breath wafts over me, all coffee and cinnamon and Marlboro Lights.

"Is that so?" One side of his mouth lifts in that smile of his. He never used to smile. Lately I've been seeing this smile on him a lot. His eyes burn me, the look on his face so intense, so determined.

Whatever happens next will change everything.

"Yes," I breathe, my heart quickening at his proximity. The smile turns to a smirk as he takes one more step. All I'd have to do is lean slightly forward and our bodies would be pressed together.

I won't budge. It has to be him.

"Well, that's too bad. Sounds like you're a little... frustrated," he whispers. His eyes travel from my face, down my neck, landing on my chest. Everything slows then; my breathing, my heart, every thought in my head, as he reaches out a single finger, tracing it along my collarbone. My cheeks heat and my nipples harden under his stare. All I can think is _finally_ he is touching me. He's touched me before, but this on another level.

I can't breathe. I can't speak. All I can do is stand there, dizzy with sensation and lust as the rough pad of his finger traces lines across my skin. I'm spun with how the smallest, simplest of touches can leave my legs like jelly and my mind so clouded over.

I should push him away. I should shout or scream or run because this is so ridiculously inappropriate. But I can't, because it feels so good, and I've wanted him for so long.

"Answer me, ," he says, his voice harsh and low now. "Are you frustrated?"

He has no idea. Or maybe he does. Maybe he knows exactly what he's doing, has been doing to me all this time. I swallow around the lump in my throat and lick my lips. His eyes snap to my face and his nostrils flare. He looks lethal, like a hunter. A predator, with only one goal, and I'm his defenseless prey. I nod, panting, still unable to speak.

"Well, Ms. Swan, we'll have to do something about that, won't we?" His finger slowly moves from my collarbone to the middle of my shirt, tracing the v-neck, right down to the dip in the middle. His finger lingers right above my cleavage, just teasing.

"Isabella, what I'm about to do is terribly indecent of me. Completely inappropriate." His finger dips into the crease between my cleavage and I can't contain my moan. "But I don't fucking care anymore. I'm tired of fighting this." He grabs my hands from where they rest against the bookshelf and pins them above my head, our fingers clasped together, intertwined, the length of his body pressed completely against mine.

"Isabella," he whispers, closing his eyes, dipping his head so that his forehead rests on mine. "Tell me you want this, too." He's so close I can feel his racing heart.

"I want you," I reply, and as soon as the words are out of my mouth, his lips are on mine. He skips the preliminaries and goes straight in for the kill. One hand keeps both of mine clasped together above my head and his other hand grips the back of my head, bringing our faces impossibly closer as his lips press firmly to mine, commanding and controlling the kiss. His lips pucker and then spread, biting down on my lower lip, before his tongue slips inside. Hot and wet, his tongue swirls with mine and I feel it deep in my stomach. His beard is rough against my chin and I squeeze my thighs together, loving the way he's kissing me, knowing he'll leave a mark on my face.

I get lost in the kiss as his hand drops from mine and he drags his fingers down my arm, a shiver following it's path as it hovers over my breast. He seems to hesitate at first, but after a second his thumb rubs lightly across my nipple, before rolling it between his finger and thumb, causing me to moan into his mouth.

He pulls away from my lips; he's flushed, panting, his eyes wild, nearly feral with desire. His thumb and finger continue to play with my nipple as we stare at each other. My eyes roll back in my head when his other hand repeats the same actions on my other breast. He squeezes both breasts, pushing them together and I arch into his touch, feeling the long hard length of him against my stomach.

 _This_ is what I've been dreaming about.

"Can you be quiet?" He's panting too, barely restraining himself.

I nod quickly, still speechless, my head spinning at enormity of what's happening.

"Let me touch you," he whispers. "Let me make you come."

"Yes... please," I hiss as he pinches hard on my nipple.

"Yeah?" He leans in and starts kissing all down my neck, all over my chest, collarbone, jawline, and cheeks. Hot, wet, open mouthed kisses. His lips are so soft, yet his hands are so hard, everywhere all at once; my ass, my hips, my boobs. It's like he can't touch me enough.

"Mmm. You want it, don't you? You want this?" Both hands leave my breast and tug at the button of my jeans. His fast and frenzied fumbling makes me a little giddy inside, knowing that he's as desperate as I am.

My zipper is down and his fingers are dipping below the lace edge of my underwear when suddenly I hear the jingling of keys, far away, but getting closer. Professor Cullen's head snaps up at the same as his hand withdraws quickly from my jeans, and he reaches behind me, fidgeting with books on the shelf and avoiding my eyes. I quickly right my button and shimmy sideways so he's no longer in front of me. I reach for my backpack on the floor, busying myself with tidying away my notes and books.

The library clerk appears around a corner and nausea rolls in my stomach as I realize how close we were to getting caught. How stupid I've been.

The library clerk's eyebrows meet his hairline as he surveys the scene before him. We probably look guilty as hell. My cheeks feel hot, I know I must be blushing, my chin likely covered in beard burn and my hair's a mess from where Professor Cullen ran his fingers through it. Library Clerk clears his throat and plasters on a polite smile.

"Oh hey, guys. Just doing a headcount, seeing who's here late," he says, swinging his keys around his fingers.

I return his fake smile with one of my own and pull my coat on. I daren't even look at Professor Cullen.

"I'm done for the night," I say, pulling my backpack onto my shoulder. He looks unsure, his eyes darting suspiciously between me and Professor Cullen. "I'm heading out now, although I'll be back first thing."

The next few minutes are a blur as I dart past the clerk and make a hasty exit for the stairs. My mind is a jumbled mess and I'm panting, no longer from arousal but from sheer, blind panic. My heart kicks into high gear. The cavity of my chest feels like it's getting tight, shrinking as my heart pounds hard, fighting to burst it's way out.

I'm out the library doors and half way across the quad heading toward my car when I hear it, his voice calling out to me in the darkness.

Professor Cullen grabs my wrist hard and spins me round, pulling me close to him. The streetlights cast shadows on his face in the dark, which along with his deep frown, make him look absolutely ferocious.

Panting and wide eyed, a heady mix of lust and fury rolls off him, only making my own desire surge.

He's the sexiest thing I've ever seen.

"Goddammit, Isabella! Would you fucking wait!" He links his fingers through mine and starts walking across the street to where a line of cars are parked, pulling me along with him. I don't even resist. I should be mad that he swore at me, that he's manhandling me like a ragdoll, but his dominance and control turns me on all the more.

I recognize his Volvo as he unlocks the car and holds the passenger door open for me.

"Get in the car," he says.

"But my car is here," I reply, barely resisting the urge to stamp my feet.

"Isabella, I do not like having to repeat myself."

"Fine," I huff, getting in and buckling up. This is nothing like the first time we drove me home. He doesn't even put his seatbelt on, barely checks his mirrors before peeling out of his parking spot and tearing down the road.

"Why'd you rush out of there like that?" He glances at me every few seconds before focusing on the road again.

"I don't know, I just panicked," I say, glancing out the window. I realize we're heading in the opposite direction of my apartment. "Hey where are we going?"

"My place." Holy fuck. This is happening. "Anyway don't change the subject. You running out of there like made it look worse than it was," he says. He slows the car down as we come to a stop light and turns to face me.

"Let's talk about this now, Isabella. Before this goes any further."

"What exactly is _this_?" I ask, motioning between the two of us.

He lets out a short laugh, accelerating again as the light turns green. "Let's not deny ourselves any longer. You want me. I want you," he says, looking me dead in the eyes as one hand leaves the steering wheel and reaches across to rest in the space between my thighs.

"I can feel the heat of you from here," he says, squeezing my leg. "You're burning for me."

I forget how to breathe. He pulls his hand away and I can't help but pout. His face turns serious again.

"If we do this, Isabella, you have to understand that no one can find out."

"I know."

"One night, Isabella. A total secret."

"Yes, Professor," I agree, absolutely past caring at this point. I want him _now_.

He nods. "Alright. And it's Edward."

 _ **~The Professor~**_

The minute he closes his apartment door, his hands are on my ass and his lips all over my neck. He backs me up against the closed door and rocks into me, pushing closer until there's no space between us. I love how he takes control. Heavy breathing and moans make an erotic soundtrack to the sensations coursing through my body. His hands move lower and he lifts me off the floor. Our mouths connect in messy, wet kisses and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me down the hall into a bedroom.

He stands there in the middle of the room, fingers digging into my thighs. I hope it leaves a bruise.

"When I put you down, you're going take all your clothes off." He runs his lips across my jaw, his commanding tone making me shiver. I nod, and he sets me on my feet, leaving me standing in the middle of the room which is dimly lit by only a bedside lamp. He flops down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard.

"Strip." One word and I'm done. His eyes challenge me. He raises that eyebrow again and I swear I get wetter with just that look. I feel thoroughly fucked and I haven't even taken off a stitch of clothing yet. "Hurry up. I want you naked."

He licks his lips and my nipples harden under his intense gaze. I shed my clothes quickly. I'm not shy about my body. He seems impatient, so I don't try to do some sexy strip tease. His breathing hitches and I can see the bulge in his jeans growing larger with every layer I take off.

"Jesus, you're fucking perfect," he says as I shed my bra and underwear. "Get over here."

I walk slowly toward the bed, loving how his eyes devour every inch of me. He palms himself over his jeans and the sight of it nearly does me in. He sits up, pulling me by the wrist onto the bed, then grabs both of my thighs and sets me in his lap so I'm straddling him. The rough denim of his jeans feels good against my clit, and I grind on him a little, gasping, biting my lip as he plucks at my hard nipples with his fingers.

He stills my hips with a hard grip and kisses my mouth, deep, slow and sensual. He pulls away with a smirk and lays back on the pillows.

"Get up here and sit on my face," he says, his voice low. Fuck. I've never done this before. He slaps my thigh to hurry me along and I shift forward so that my legs are spread either side of his head. His grips my thighs with both hands, squeezing hard the way he was before in a possessive grip.

He stares for a second, inhaling deeply through his nose, before his tongue slips out and takes a quick, teasing taste of my skin.

"Mmm," he whispers. Then he dives in, lapping at my wetness. He alternates between long, slow, teasing licks of my skin, and then quick nips at my clit. His hands dig deeper into my thighs, encouraging me to move. I fall slightly forward and grip the headboard, needing something to hold on to, to anchor me. The scruff of his beard burns my thighs.

"Mmm, fuck. That's it," he says with a groan. "Ride my face."

He sucks and licks without restraint, his tongue hard and punishing, bringing me closer to the edge. A moan rips through me when a long finger slides inside me without warning. I rock faster, loving every second of his brutal, unrestrained feasting. His moans and groans send vibrations buzzing around my clit, adding to the sensation. When he adds a second finger, and pinches hard on my nipple with his other hand, I come long and hard without warning, panting, swearing and screaming his name.

 _Edward._

I'm boneless, a ragdoll. He slaps my thigh again and I squeal, before falling sideways onto the bed. I roll onto my back, laying here with my eyes closed, trying to catch my breath. I'm still shaking when I feel him move from the bed. When I open my eyes, he's standing above me, completely naked, his hand wrapped around his thick, heavy cock, his eyes heavy with desire.

Fuck.

I'm finally getting to see what I've been fantasizing about for months. The ink that's been teasing me is on display in all its technicolor glory. In the dim light of the room I can only see colors and swirls and outlines across his chest, arms, and neck. His torso is long and lean, with just a hint of a six pack. Those longer fingers that were just inside me are wrapped around his hard cock, stroking slowly.

He's glorious.

He reaches into the nightstand and I lick my lips as he rolls the condom on. I desperately want to taste him and make him feel good the way that he tasted me, but there will be time for that. Right now I just want him inside me.

"You want this?" He asks, crawling to the bed again. I spread my legs in invitation and he hovers over me. He pins my hands above my head the way he did in the library and I lift my hips to meet his. "Answer me," he whispers.

Lust fogs my mind. I can't get the words out. His eyes search my face before he presses his lips to mine in a kiss so sweet it leaves me breathless, in such a contrast to the way he just made me come. His hands leave mine and he grips my hips, grinding into me.

"Edward," I whisper. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer, digging my fingers into his ass. "I want you." What I don't say is that I want more than a fuck. More than his cock.

I want to know him, in every way.

I close eyes against the wave of emotion that slams into me as he reaches between us and slips inside. We groan in unison as he fills me.

He's ruined me for anyone else.

I'm his.

He starts to move gently, in so deep, fucking me in long, slow strokes. His lips press to mine and his tongue invades my mouth, mimicking the actions of his cock. Every inch of his body presses against mine, every touch possessing me, and it's never _ever_ been this good.

"Fuck, Isabella. You feel good," he groans, starting to move faster _._ I dig my fingernails into his ass and he hisses, his head snapping up, his eyes thunderous. "You want it rough, huh?"

"Yes," I cry, arching up to meet his thrusts. Something in him snaps and he sits up on his knees, grabbing my ankle and positioning it on his shoulder. He pushes my other leg wider, my knee towards my chest and his hand pushing down hard on the back of my thigh. He's in complete control, I'm pinned down. He slams hard into me and it's so so deep. His pace picks up and now he's really fucking me into the mattress, his eyes fixed on me, his face contorted in pleasure. It's desperate, wanton, almost animalistic. I love it.

He reaches to where we're joined, his fingers finding my clit hard and swollen. I've never come twice in a row, but arousal sings through my veins as he rubs circles on my swollen skin, his cock sinking deeper with every thrust.

"That's it," he hisses, his eyes nearly feral with lust. "Take it all. Come on my cock."

My mouth falls open in a silent scream as I shatter around him.

"Fuck, Isabella. You're so beautiful when you come," he says, pinching my nipple hard.

He drops my leg, pressing his body to mine again, pushing all the way in one last time before arching up and throwing his head back, releasing a long groan as he comes hard inside me.

He collapses on top of me and I relish the weight of him. It feels so close, so intimate, and I squeeze my thighs around him, gasping as aftershocks ripple through me.

He buries his head between my neck and shoulder and I feel warm puffs of air across my skin. I bask in this afterglow, because I have no idea what comes next.

 _ **~The Professor~**_

One night becomes a morning after, and the night after that. We spend the weekend in his bed, only stopping to eat or take care of the necessities. He asks me about high school, and when I started writing. He asks about my mother, and holds me close when I cry over my father.

He asks me random, trivial things like my favorite music and how I like my coffee. He wants to know how many men I've been with and his eyes blaze when I tell him he's only the second.

We take a bath and he scrubs my back. His mirth filled smile when I splash him with the washcloth makes it feel like we've always been this way.

It feels like we're together, just a normal guy and a normal girl, in a normal relationship. It's almost too easy to forget that we're student and professor.

That this is so wrong.

"Oh God, Bella," he whispers, sliding inside me again as he bends me over the vanity, watching us in the mirrors as he takes me hard and fast. It feels so good I could cry. And the way he says my name, Bella - not Isabella - it makes me feel so close to him.

He drives me back to campus late on Sunday night to where my car is parked. He leaves me with a kiss and a promise to see me soon. I have no idea where we stand.

I hold back the tears until I get to my own car, and then the floodgates open.

 _ **~The Professor~**_

His lips trail fire across my skin, blazing to the deepest parts of my soul. The rough skin of his fingers follow his lips with the softest of caresses, making my body tremble and shiver and shudder.

His touch is the sweetest torture, leaving me writhing under him. It's maddening and perfect.

"Edward..."

"Shhh... Just feel," he whispers. His tongue draws circles around my belly button, the sensation earning a soft giggle from me.

Even as my face smiles, my heart is heavy. My toes curl as my eyes well up and my breath comes in short pants. I clench and moan and dig my fingers into his scalp even as my chest aches.

Every time he's here I wonder will it be the last. I savor every moment, cling to every sensation because I never know if he'll be back. We've been doing this almost two months, and every time, we both say we have to stop. We both know wrong it is, how much of a risk we're taking.

But neither of us can resist the pull.

"Please...more," I beg, dying for his touch. His deep, rumbly voice starts whispering in the darkness, sweet nothings, dirty words about the softness of my skin and the smell of my hair. How he loves my eyes and craves my taste.

"Describe me in one word," I whisper as his fingers gently peel my underwear down my shaky thighs. His eyes are intense as they meet mine, and the desire and lust there is undeniable.

It intoxicates me, that look. His touch brings me the highest of highs.

I'm a junkie, he's my fix. I'm Eve in the Garden, he's my forbidden fruit.

I'll never get enough.

My heart cracks a little more as he utters the one word I long to be true.

"Mine."

 _ **~The Professor~**_

March 1st comes round quick. Angela and I skip classes on a Tuesday, making the trip up to Forks to be with Charlie when he gets his tests results back. We share the driving, and when I'm not driving, I spend most of the time checking my phone.

I haven't heard from Edward since last Friday, since he kissed me senseless in his office before his next class. He promised to call me that weekend, saying he was desperate to see me.

He hasn't called and it makes me feel sick to my stomach. Has he lost interest? Has he grown bored of me? We never made any kind of commitment to each other, and I know I should walk away with my dignity intact. I've never been the type of girl to chase after a guy. We've been careful, meeting after dark, at his place, away from campus and prying eyes. Late night drives and secret kisses in his office. Shy smiles and lingering glances in class burn me with memories of our time together. Roses delivered to my apartment on Valentine's Day make the flame burn brighter.

But I feel like a dirty little secret. I knew going in that it had to be a secret. There's no way anyone can ever find out about our affair. But for as much pleasure as he gives me, as good as he makes me feel, I'm left wanting.

I want a normal relationship.

But I wouldn't burn for any other man the way I burn for him.

As if he knows I'm thinking about him, my phone bleeps with an incoming text:

 _ **We need to talk. - E.C.**_

I frown. Not a word from him for five days, then this?

 _ **In Forks for my father's test results. Back on campus Thursday. - Bella.**_

 _ **Of course, it slipped my mind. Let me know how things go. I'm thinking about you. xo - E.C.**_

I don't reply.

 _ **~The Professor~**_

Elation. Joy. Absolute relief. My vision blurs, tears streaming from my eyes Angela jumps up and down with excitement before wrapping her arms around Charlie. I flop down into the chair, feeling like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

I can't even begin to imagine how my father feels. His smile says it all.

His test results came back clear, and Dr Cullen informed us that Charlie is officially in remission.

My father kicked cancer's ass.

"I think this calls for a celebration," I say. "My treat. Doctor Cullen, will you join us?"

Doctor Cullen smiles, and in that moment I'm reminded so much of Edward that it makes my chest ache, but I push the feeling aside. Today is about family.

"I'd be honored."

We're heading out of the hospital towards our car; Dad and Angela are smiling and laughing at something Doctor Cullen in saying. Despite the chill in the air, the sun is shining. Nothing can sour my mood.

Over a late lunch, Charlie gushes about his plans for fishing and hiking trips. His excitement is contagious. I find myself looking forward to the summer, when I finish my Masters, wondering if I will be able to make travel plans, or if I'll be working by then.

Doctor Cullen excuses himself when his cellphone rings, stepping away from the table. He hovers by the door, eyebrows knit together in a frown as he glances at me throughout the conversation.

How odd.

He returns to the table with a tight smile, immediately falling back into conversation with my Dad.

Ten minutes later, the reason for Doctor Cullen's strange behaviour appears through the door of the restaurant, walking towards our table.

"Edward! What are you doing here?" My father exclaims, standing from the table and shaking Edward's hand.

Edward smiles his most dazzling smile as he returns my father's handshake. He's gorgeous in a black suit and white shirt, his tie loose and haphazard.

"My mother is always pestering me to visit more often. I had no classes today so I decided to drive down for a flying visit," he says smoothly. He smiles at me. "Bella. Angela."

He pulls up a chair from another table, sitting down beside me. I can't look at him for fear of giving us away.

"I should have called earlier, because by the time I did, Dad said he already had lunch plans. Sorry to interrupt," he says with a sheepish smile.

He's _such_ a bad liar. Even Angela looks puzzled, because she's never seen this charming side to him before. What the hell is he doing here?

I'm fuming inside, hiding my rage with a sickly sweet smile as I watch him converse with his father and mine. He knew I was coming up here. Not a word from him for days, a vague text from him this morning, then he shows up here?

As we're lingering over coffee and dessert, Doctor Cullen makes his excuses that he has to get back to work.

"I'll see you at the house later, Edward," he says as he shakes Charlie's hand and nods at me and Angela.

Edward charms my father and asks Angela questions about her classes. He dominates the conversation, but manages to virtually ignore me, all while his hand rests on top of my thigh under the table.

When Charlie starts to complain about feeling tired, I motion to the waitress for the check. Angela is busy fussing over Charlie, helping him into his coat, that neither of them notice when Edward grabs the check from the waitress and puts his credit card inside.

"What are you doing?" I hiss through clenched teeth.

"No woman of mine pays for lunch, Isabella," he whispers darkly, still refusing to look at me. "Now think on your feet and come up with some reason to not go home with your sister and father because I need to talk to you, _now."_

What the fuck? No woman of _his?_ He's back in mean Professor mode, no hint of the kind man I've come to know over the last few weeks.

"No," I say. Rising to my feet, I pull on my coat and pick up my purse.

Angela and my father are making their way to the door, their backs to us, when he grabs me around the wrist.

"Bella," he whispers. His voice is smooth and I crumble inside, knowing I can't resist when he talks to me like that. I huff out a breath, looking down at him. His eyes are pleading with me.

"Fine," I say. "Come on."

We follow my father and Angela out of the restaurant. I'm still trying to think up an excuse when I realize what's across the street.

The library.

"Hey, Dad, I wanna check out the library while we're here. They just got that new wing and I haven't seen it yet," I lie. "Maybe I can even get a few chapters written."

Angela rolls her eyes while my dad chuckles. "Sure thing, kid." He knows how much I love books so he's not even a little bit suspicious.

"You guys go on; Professor Cullen can give me a ride home."

My Dad seems satisfied, hugging me before Angela ushers him into the passenger seat of the car. She gives me a strange look before getting into the driver's side. We stand there on the sidewalk, watching them drive away. Once they're out of sight, I march across the street to the library, Edward trailing behind me. I head up the stairs to where I know there's a fairly secluded section and throw my purse down on the nearest table.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I'm absolutely seething.

"I needed to see you," he says. He wrings his hands together and paces the floor. He looks nervous.

"You said that. I don't hear from you for days, then you text me this morning and say you need to talk? I told you I was coming down here, that I'd be back on campus Thursday and yet you still followed me down here? What was so damn important that it couldn't wait until then?"

His head snaps up and his nervous demeanor is replaced by something dark and predatory. He stalks towards me and backs me up against the bookshelf. His hand land on my shoulders, holding me in place.

"I came down here for you," he spits. "Yes, we needed to talk. But when you told me what you were coming down here for, I had to come. I wanted to be here for you." His voice softens. "In case it was bad news." He turns away, pacing again.

"In case you needed me," he whispers, looking so damn vulnerable it breaks my heart. Tears fill my eyes. What a mess.

"I... never expected this..." I say, taking a step towards him. He takes a step back and the distance feels more than just physical.

"I called my Dad, he told me the good news anyway, but I was already in town. I just wanted to see you."

"I... don't know what to say..."

He stalks toward me again, pulling me into his embrace. One arm wraps around my waist and the other cups my chin.

"I couldn't stand the thought of you being here and hurting. I just wanted to be here, in any way that you needed me."

My heart pounds. "Why didn't you call?" I whisper. "Last week. You were all over me in your office, you couldn't wait to see me. Then you didn't call. I thought..."

"What?"

"I thought it was over. That you were bored of me." Tears fall down my face and he leans in and kisses each one away. It only makes me cry harder.

"Bella," he whispers. The hand that's cupping my jaw reaches to the side and clasps one of mine. He lifts our hands and rests my palm across his heart. "Don't you know?" His heart is flying. "You own it. Since the day you walked into my class, your freshman year. You have no idea how hard it's been for me to resist you for so long. Four years of torture, Bella."

"Your beauty." His fingers caress my cheekbone.

"Your smile." His thumb traces the shape of my lips.

"Your mind." He pushes my hair behind my ear and presses his lips to my temple.

He rests his own palm over my heart. "You own my heart, Bella. You own _me_ ," he whispers. "Let me in. Let me own you, too."

He makes me feel so many things. I've never felt for anyone the way I feel when I'm with him. He's addicting, intoxicating. He makes me feel safe, protected.

He makes me feel owned.

And what he did today, driving all the way down here in case we got bad news? My heart is so full it could burst.

"I'm scared, Edward," I say honestly.

"I know you are. I got scared too. That's why I didn't call you last week. When you left my office I realized I hadn't locked the door when you were in there with me." He steps back, begins pacing again. "Professor Hale turned up at my office door about two minutes after you left. I panicked when I realized how close we were to getting caught."

I swallow; it feels like ice slithering down my throat. Dread fills the pit of my stomach as I take in his words.

"Edward, I can't do this," I say. "What about my thesis? How can you be unbiased? How can you be fair to me? Not to mention the fact if we get caught we'd both be ruined."

He shrugs. "You've already fucking ruined me, Bella. I can't be without you now."

"You can't be serious, Edward," I say, incredulous.

"I'm deadly fucking serious, Bella," he says with a humourless laugh. "Anyway, that's why I didn't call. I needed to take a step back. Figure out a way around this. Get the best outcome for both of us."

"The best... outcome?"

"So we can be together," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Do you trust me, Bella?"

I nod. Despite everything, I know deep down that he's it for me. I have to _choose_ to trust him.

"There are a couple of other positions I'm looking at at neighbouring colleges. I spoke to Professor Hale about taking over as your thesis advisor. Told her I hated your ideas and found you insufferable to work with." He sighs. "Of course, that's not true."

I smile through my tears. "That's what I thought, at the start, you know. That you hated me."

"Only because I wanted you so badly."

I'm exhausted suddenly. I slide down the bookshelf and sink to the floor. Edward sits down beside me, grabbing my hand and linking our fingers together.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he says.

I sigh. "I hate that we have to keep this a secret. I'm scared the pressure will be too much and we'll just end up hating each other."

"Trust me, Bella. Please. We'll figure it out together. Keep your head down and work hard for a few more months and you'll be done."

Panic rises in my chest as I imagine it. I think of the pressure I've been under for the last few months with Charlie's illness. What if he relapses? What if my mother comes home and upsets things? What if I can't cope with my workload? I've been struggling to cope already.

"You can't live your life with what ifs, Isabella," he whispers. I gasp when I realize I've verbalized my thoughts.

"Please, Bella," he says. "Be mine."

I pull my hand away from his and rise to my feet quickly, overwhelmed by my panic. It's too hot in here and I need a breath of cool air to calm me. My hands feel clammy and my stomach feels like lead.

"Bella wait, please," he says, but I'm already down the stairs, out the door. This feels so familiar. I'm always running from him. He's always chasing me.

"Please, don't go." He pulls me into his arms and clings to me like I'm the last person on earth. He buries his nose in my hair, his lips tracing my jaw. "Please," he rasps. "Please." He sucks my earlobe into his mouth and my resolve almost crumbles. My legs are like dead weights; I couldn't move even if I wanted to.

My knees go weak as his kisses and nibbles trigger a slideshow of memories in my mind. The last time we were together plays across my vision, and I can't see anything but us.

His kisses, his hands all over me. The way he teases me, brings me to the precipice of ecstasy before retreating, only to begin the torture all over again. The way my body would shudder when he finally sends me over the edge, with dirty whispers and sweet nothings in my ear.

His is the sweetest kind of torture, the most luscious affliction. He fucks me so good, makes me burn so hot.

He's everything I've ever desired and nothing I should dare to hope for. I've fallen hard for him, but I can't fathom how he could feel the same. I don't understand the intensity of these feelings I have for him. I'm so scared. Is he worth the risk? The answer is yes, absolutely. But that scares me even more. I'm so conflicted.

"Please, Edward. I can't do this anymore."

"Do what?"

"This. Us. I can't lie to you anymore, I can't lie to myself." I try to pull away but he clings tighter.

His eyes burn me. "So don't lie. Stop fighting, dammit. You're mine."

"I—"

He swallows my words with a kiss so tender, like warm honey on my tongue. My lips will never fit anyone else's they way they fit with his. It feels like home.

"You're mine. I love you," he whispers, before capturing my lips again.

I succumb.

I give in.

I knew I would.

Because I've always been his.

 _ **~The Professor~**_

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